The Captivating Lady Charlotte (Regency Brides: A Legacy of Grace #2)(34)
He inclined his head, but not before she saw a trace of pleasure cross his features.
Her cheeks heated. Had he truly paid attention to her earlier words? Why?
She focused on the globe of delicate sweetness, enjoying its perfect ripeness, firm, yet oh so tasty. She licked her lips. “It tastes like golden sunshine. The perfect way to finish a meal.” She smiled fully this time at the duke. “Thank you.”
He drew back a little and nodded. “I’m glad.” And the most charming smile filled his face, transforming his features from darkness to light.
Her heart caught. Oh …
“Quick! I can hear cheering,” Henry called.
Charlotte dragged her gaze away, wishing for water to cool her cheeks, for something to slow her rapid pulse. She glanced at her brother, precariously perched halfway out the window. “Be careful, Henry.”
“Come on, Lottie!” He gestured her nearer. “I can see the head of the procession!”
She watched the parade, thankful for the distraction. The first to pass were the Light Dragoons, followed by the Eleventh Regiment. The uniforms of blue and buff looked most striking.
“I wonder if Hawkesbury’s watching this somewhere,” Henry mused. “He’d know most of them, wouldn’t he?”
“He was in the Twelfth,” the duke said from behind them.
Charlotte stole another glance at him. What was it about him? He stood behind the others, never jostling for position, or demanding that which his rank should afford. In his quiet, unobtrusive way, he seemed to notice quite a great deal, offering answers to Mama’s questions as to which officers and generals rode in each carriage.
She returned her attention to the passing carriages: officers of the Regent’s household followed by the foreign generals, state carriages bearing the royal dukes, the speaker’s coach, the carriages bearing the members of cabinet. On and on it went. A troop of the Royal Horse Guards, the Regent’s officers of state, the Regent’s state carriage pulled by eight cream horses, then the czar.
Mama sniffed. “I cannot believe those persons dare hiss the Prince Regent when the king of Prussia passes by! Most uncouth. Well”—she settled back into her seat, fanning herself—“all this excitement finds me quite thirsty.”
Lord Fanshawe drew near. “Shall I procure you a drink, Lady Exeter? And something for you also, Lady Charlotte?”
“Thank you.”
A snap of fingers brought a footman, hurried orders, and soon, two glasses of champagne.
Charlotte tasted hers and grimaced. Champagne had never been to her liking, hence the ubiquitous lemonade at family meals, even despite Henry’s teasing. She placed the glass down, swallowed a sigh.
“Here.” The low, quiet voice accompanied another glass: lemonade.
“Oh!” She glanced up at her benefactor. “Thank you.”
The duke bowed, and she sipped, enjoying the tang and sweetness, pretending to watch the conclusion of the parade as her thoughts chased each other.
Why did the duke notice such things? Surely he did not care for her? Had she been too kind, offering false hope? She had better take heed, lest her behavior gave rise to expectations she had no desire to fulfill. What could she do to make him understand?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hartwell Abbey
Two days later
HE SHOULD NEVER have agreed.
William shut his eyes firmly, as if he could block the images tumbling through his head. Spending the day with the marquess and family had proved every bit as torturous as he’d imagined. As if it wasn’t enough for him to be forced to politely fence with the marchioness over all manner of things, he’d also been forced to watch Fanshawe fawning over her daughter.
The very daughter who now haunted his dreams.
One smile was all it had taken. The first real smile she’d shown him, over a matter so ridiculously simple as a peach, had been enough to make him wish for his hothouses so he could feed her peaches every day.
Charlotte wore her beauty loosely, as if unaware. Her complexion was such that she would not need the pots and powders with which Pamela had crowded her dressing table. Instead, Charlotte glowed with natural vibrancy, her fairness and blushes a mirror to her emotions. Her lips—oh, her lips!—were berry red, her hair like tendrils of curly sunshine. And when her face lit, as it had with that smile, it seemed all the cold spaces of his heart thawed.
He’d tried to be more interesting, to not play the mute as was his wont. He believed he’d covered his amusement when he’d pointed out—kindly, he thought—the spot of cream beside her mouth. A spot of cream that, were he a romantic man, he would beg to kiss away.
His eyes flew open. “Heavenly Father, please take these desires away.”
He shouldn’t desire her; heaven knew she’d made it plain she did not desire him. But her vitality called to him, her lack of artifice as appealing as the kindness she’d shown in caring for Hawkesbury’s wife as the earl had mentioned recently. He couldn’t help longing for someone whose spirits boosted his, whose passions were harnessed by politeness, not harbored by lies …
His stomach tensed. Perhaps it would be best to escape and head farther north, to the border, like that Markham fellow had been rumored to have done. He would leave, except his presence was needed, poor Barrack finally having been seen by Dr. Blakeney, whose diagnosis and treatment concurred with William’s own: rest.